Betrayel
by HarleyQuinn1998
Summary: He never meant to go back.


He would moan, and he would groan and the only thing he could compare himself to in the cruel light of dawn was a wanton whore.

He would writhe and cry out trying to escape the body holding him

down, yet they both knew as much as he hated the acts he took part in they were the only things making him feel alive.

His escape attempts were half-hearted but he didn't feel like a traitor if he tried, didn't feel as dirty and disgusting after the act was finished if he struggled a little. It only ever lasted for a few minutes and he couldn't even convince himself it meant anything. Yet seeing the bruises on his wrist afterwards where the others grip got too hard allowed him a reprieve from the worthlessness.

He didn't feel as if he was betraying his friends, his pack, while he screamed the ex-alphas name into the dark, despite knowing that's exactly what he was doing every time he let the others hand run up and down his bruised body after running from this week's monster of the week.

He didn't feel like he was giving up their secrets and plans willingly if he was being pounded into a mattress at the time; he preferred to think of it as a less violent torture as much as he preferred it to having his head smashed into steering wheels or slammed against walls, or even attacked with parts of his own car he sometimes thought these methods would allow him to come away with a clean conscience.

He would never willingly admit the feel of sharp claws scraping down his back made his cock jump or the fact the person bringing out these feeling could kill him with the flick of their wrist. In fact sometimes late into the night when his body was aching and he felt satisfied and drowsy, his mind would allow the thought of sex without the violence float around and he always felt wronged that if did nothing for him.

He would never tell his best friend, or the girl he claimed to love or anyone for that matter that the fact it was so wrong made it all the better. He could picture the disgust that would take over their faces and the snide comments and the puppy eyes that would stare into his soul as if they didn't recognise him anymore. Not that he could ever blame them it was the same feeling he felt every day when he caught his eye in the mirror.

The haunted look that clouded over his once fiery eyes and the sarcastic smirk that lived on his face instead of the once bright grin that had the ability to cheer up the people around him. His face had once allowed anyone around him to know exactly what he was feeling and he sometimes missed seeing that in the mirror, now all he saw was a guarded look and a dangerous glint that scared him.

He was so willingly beneath their hands it was disgusting like putty, willing to do anything, be anything just for the release, just for the feeling of euphoria that overtook him in the few stolen hours they got together.

He didn't know what was worse the fact he had abandoned his friends and pack or the fact he'd abandoned his own race juts for the feeling of a few pheromones being released into his body. He knew it was wrong, understood that giving in to the feeling of wanting over and over again was hurtful to himself and if the secret ever got out everyone he knew. They had forgiven him before for acts out of his control yet this time, may be the breaking point, giving up things which could endanger the entire pack just because he was being fucked good wasn't likely to be accepted by anyone yet it was what circled in his head whenever he knocked on the apartment door.

He would look in the mirror afterwards, the one purposefully hung in the hallway as another way to make him suffer. Looking for tell-tale signs of his betrayal, none was ever there other than the bites and scratches littering his chest and torso which made it worse. The scent of sex and blood followed him home but no matter how much he showered it never left his own senses until he was immersed in his pack with their scents taking over. He understood that logically sex and blood weren't what he smelt of but the fear that everyone knew made him believe it and he couldn't help but sigh with relief when no one gave any sign of noticing.

He sometimes wondered if it was real, wondered if he was imagining everything, adding to his own guilt by making up even worse scenarios in his head. Something he could punish himself for and accept that it was bad enough he was allowed to run head first into danger without a care for himself. Yet while he was standing there his lover would come up behind him and ignite the same passion he felt the first time they saw each other and he would know this was as real as anything got him for anymore.


End file.
